Fit of Fitness

Although Toby over at Vividblurry has the subject of body-dysmorphia all sewn up, I would like to say this: travelling about the globe, staying here and there, and living out of a suitcase is not the way to keep to a strict diet and gym routine. Worse, while I have no scale to measure myself on and therefore can't obsess directly about my weight, I have been exposing myself naked to strangers for money, which I figure is bound to make even the most avid gym-rat to cast a more critical eye on their own body... and I'm not anything like a gym rat at present: I haven't looked in a mirror for two weeks, and I haven't approached a barbell in four.

Le sigh.

And even worse than that are all those other go-go boys at work who don't have a thought in their pretty little heads, but devote the entire force of their limited grey matter towards moving their 7% body-fatted selves to and from the weight room--and purchasing steroids, I suppose. Sometimes I want to beat them up.

But most of my day-dreams lately revolve around eating according to a timer and starting a brand new workout routine; maybe doing a little yoga; oh, and hanging my clothes in a closet. Closets are sexy.

I'm so tired of travelling.